If I had to write about being bipolar,

I would write about the ups and downs.

How some days you feel like you are soaring

and others you feel like you are fifty feet underground.

How you know logically that there must be an escape,

how else will you fly again in the future?

But you feel in your bones that there is no escape,

so there isn’t.

 

If I had to write about being bipolar,

I would write about the uncertainty and doubt

that you face at every single word you say.

Is this a part of my disease behavior?

you ask yourself as you exchange casual conversation with a friend.

How do I really act, when I am not manic or depressed?

How do I really feel?

 

If I had to write about being bipolar,

I would write about the high suicide rates

and the high substance abuse rates

that people with bipolar suffer from.

They are not selfish, you cry,

even as people tell you otherwise.

They are an escape.

 

If I had to write about being bipolar,

I would write about the stigma.

How you feel trapped in your own mind,

with an inability to make sense of your emotions,

with nowhere and no one to turn to.

No one who wouldn’t judge you and call you weak

just for a chemical imbalance in your brain.

 

If I had to write about being bipolar,

I would write about getting treatment.

How sometimes the medication actually helps,

how you learn coping skills and how to deal with things

that you never thought you could.

You will be bipolar for the rest of your life,

but the thought is almost bearable now.

 

If I had to write about being bipolar,

I would write about hope.

And how you learn to smile through hard times

and see the light at the end of the tunnel.

There will be times that are hard to handle,

but you will get through it.

You will be alright.